A/N: A fanfiction inspired by Momo-Chan12 on The Scarlet Sky's forum. The challenge was to write a Nami fic, and I could expound from there. Hope you like it!

N for Nonchalance

It was Monday afternoon and I wasn't bored. This perturbed me greatly at the time, because frankly, I was always bored. And I haven't ever felt a time where I wasn't. Even when I'm happy (rarely), angry (often), or annoyed (perpetually), there's always at least the slightest tinge of inadvertent boredom enclosed inside me. The "N" in "Nami" is clearly abbreviated for "Nonchalance."

I'm a blunt girl. I have a sharp tongue. Being blunt and sharp-tongued, I'm not too aloof to admit it. Naturally, one hindered by such an innermost philanthropy would get theirself thrown into a hassle and try to find a solution. However, I, fulfilling my namesake, really couldn't care less.

But the more I lazed around my room at the Inner Inn, the more I realized it was impossible not to care. I was becoming so incredibly not-bored that I almost felt… giddy. And giddy was one thing I refused to let perceive my mental box of Things I Allowed Myself To Feel.

In just a matter of minutes, my giddiness blossomed allegedly into inane excitement, causing my heart to pound. Though I wasn't completely familiar with such a pulsating emotion, it didn't take much time for me to realize that excitement simply could not be contained.

I had to get out. Before anyone could see me like this. Grabbing a faded plaid jacket, I tossed it over my shoulders and rushed down the stairs. I glanced up feebly when derisive laughter drifted through my ears.

"And do you know what I said?" Rock was exclaiming to a giggling Muffy, all too loudly. "I was like…"

I tuned off his incessantly annoying voice, not wishing to know what he was 'like.' I quickened my pace furtively, pleading that he wouldn't notice me. Naturally, he did.

"Hey, Nami! C'mere!" he called, utterly blatantly. "I was just telling Muffy this hilarious joke about this one time…"

Again, his voice drained out of my ears' data log. Didn't he realize that I didn't care? No, I don't think he did.

"Where are you going?" he asked as I ignored him and stalked up to the door to exit. To my great dismay, he blabbered on. "Don't you want to listen to my story?"

I looked at him pretensively. "Of course I would, Rock," I answered through very gritted teeth. "Maybe tomorrow, or the day after that, or when I'm six hundred fifty-four. Maybe when I care, which I highly assume will be never."

I ambled out the door, aware of Rock's constant mutterings of "What's her problem?" said in an incredulous tone that made me scoff. Living in such a peaceful valley had its downsides; it was inhabited by the most annoying people; Rock commonly among them.

I had to admit, though, he wasn't always that bad. Sure, he got on my nerves (more than one should be allowed) but he had this annoying way of amusing me. He was just such a thick-headed, wannabe-macho, persistent little brat. In some ways he was like the little brother nobody wanted to have. Like many older sisters, however, I was stuck with him.

Now, Rock wasn't the only one in the community that wriggled their way into my thoughts every so often. There was also Muffy, the local bartender. Green-eyed, blonde, and slender, she was always biased as the town pushover. It was ridiculous. Anyone who knew Muffy could tell she was just hopeful, or a little more than that. Maybe naïve in a way, but there was nothing wrong with her.

Speaking of people who were always wrong, I couldn't help but also think of Daryll. Many times the scientist (mad scientist, if you ask me) had ripped through the appeased doors of the Inner Inn, howling insanely about his latest invention, and how it worked splendidly and would awe even the greatest of scholars. Few glances were exchanged; ones that briefly omitted mutterings of Yeah, rights. One time, he'd even burst through the inn's tranquility just to inform its residents about the mermaid he'd found ashore at the beach. It took a few glasses of water before I managed to stop laughing at that one.

Ah, and last but not least, there was one more person who never ceased to invade my thought bubble. He was probably the one that penetrated my air of nonchalance, in fact. And, knowing myself, I could not deny what I truly thought about him. But being unable to deny something didn't mean I had to openly proclaim it, so no two cents for you.

Soft, sweet music suddenly flitted through my ears, and I found myself lost in the melody. Realizing my surroundings for the first time, and the multicoloured yurt I had fast been closing in on, I knew immediately where the music had spawned from.

Gustafa sat acutely on a fallen log by a tree, appearing not to have noticed me. He strung a wistful chord on his guitar and looking skyward. His dark sunglasses blocked his eyes, but their relevance died when I saw a single tear fall onto his cheek. Then before I knew it, he began singing— but his usual upbeat, buoyant, soulful cadence had been replaced with a low, meek dimuendo. Without really realizing it, I found myself drawn to his new sound, taking a step forward.

Gustafa heard my advancement and jumped, his hands flying from his guitar to his face. He wiped off the tear before glancing my way, looking stricken.

"Nami, what are you doing here?" he demanded, not angrily but slightly pained.

I faltered unsurely. "I, uh…" I searched for a vague truth. "I was walking," I finished lamely.

He eyed me for a split second, as if disbelieving. Then he looked down and reddened. "Did you see any of that?"

"Any of what?"

The perpetually joyful musician sighed indifferently. "Never mind…"

But Rock's persistency having rubbed off on me, I approached him without hesitation. "No, what?"

"Well, that song." I could tell he was holding the next array of words in, but I decided not to push it.

"It was pretty," I noted. "Sad… but pretty." It was only then I noticed a tight feeling in my cheeks, and the hue of red dawning on his. This excitement was similar to the one I felt at my room… and I still wasn't bored. My heart fluttered passively, and I started to panic.

Gustafa didn't notice my immediate discomfort and smiled, launching back into his old, hearty self. "Did you really think so? Thanks." He paused briefly and seriously. "It was a song about emotion," he finally explained gently.

"…Emotions?" I collected a careful selection of words that could fit the song's composition. Melancholy. Grief. Sorrow. Hate.

"Love."

I looked up at him, startled. "L…love?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's about this girl I love, and how I wish she could be mine. It's about how I'd do anything for her; how I'd write any song."

Oh no. The pounding of my heart had begun to increase, nearly breaking a tattered hole through my chest as it began to spaz. I pushed my hand against it to slow it down, feeling woozy. "You mean…" I blurted out ineffectually.

Gustafa grinned, somewhat shyly. "She's been invading my thought bubble lately. She's taken away the nonchalance in my life. She's made me giddy to the core. Her name is Nami." He held out his instrument. "And I'd give my guitar to be with her."

I felt myself blush furiously the instant he said he was talking to… and about… me. Me; the stoic dreamer. The distant, sarcastic tomboy. Me… Nami.

"I couldn't," I managed to stutter, and I saw hurt and shock plaster against his face. "I mean, I couldn't accept your guitar…" I corrected myself hastily, and then a little smile bloomed on his face.

"Did you know you're very beautiful?" he intoned, making me turn away with absolute rosiness flitting my cheeks.

"No," I answered hotly, but that only made him chuckle. A few voiceless words rose to my throat but died away. Just as my mouth opened and I managed a small squeak, I was interrupted by the strumming of strings and the interpretation of a trilling A.

Before I knew it, Gustafa was singing. He was singing about…me. I felt myself shake my head vigorously as he mentioned all the great features I couldn't agree with, but he only went on with fleeting confidence. Near the end, I could feel my heart dancing along the uncharted notes of his guitar, and the way his very words brimmed with the life and emotion that tamed his song. When he put down his guitar, I was thrown into a bonecrushing embrace.

It would have been much more comfortable if the guitar hadn't been smushed between us.

"That was something I've been meaning to give you for a long time." He pulled away, grinning meekly. "And for now, I think that's all you'd allow."

Another shallow blush captivated me, and I stepped back. "I, uh…Gustafa…" I tripped over my words, but he silenced me with a strike of his guitar.

"You don't need to say a thing," he told me, still smiling. "In fact, I can sing all the words for you."

A few more notes lulled me from my consciousness, and I found myself closing my eyes in deep thought.

Gustafa. Pronoun. Definition: the cure to my nonchalance. I could definitely get used to this…

However, while my eyes were still shut, I was pulled into shock when lips met my own. I would've recoiled with a jerk if I hadn't felt so safe and peaceful. I complied, and I found my heart quicken its already thunderous pace.

When he pulled back, my eyes still closed, I heard another chuckle.

"What?" I demanded.

He gave me an amused look. "Still bored?"

I grinned deviously. "Not at all."